


Cold Snap

by ThriftShopYarn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Fluff, Introversion, M/M, New Years, Winter fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThriftShopYarn/pseuds/ThriftShopYarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A much belated New Year's fic.<br/>New Year's Eve is not as much fun for Jehan has he had hoped it would be. But his boyfriend is there to bring the warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Snap

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine. Un-beta'd.
> 
> Okay, yes I know. To the best of my knowledge Paris has not had to suffer the ungodly low temps or lack of reliable transportation my part of the world had to deal with this winter. But I had to live through a polar vortex okay? (Yes, we had to find a name for it.) So the boys do too.

“How does Bossuet even find these places?” Courfeyrac’s voice was muffled by the wooly scarf around his neck. Jehan knew it wasn’t helping. His own scarf was not preventing him from breathing in air so cold it felt as though knives were going down his throat. He could hear the light crunch their feet made against the old snow that clung stubbornly to the sidewalk, and their own harsh breathing, but little else. It was 12:18 am, New Year’s Day, and just like every day for the past week it was so far below freezing even the TV meteorologists were no longer trying to hide their despondency at the endless cold. Tonight, everyone sane was either in a club surrounded by enough booze and company to keep them warm into the wee hours of the morning, or at home with friends, family, and central heating. 

Courfeyrac and Jehan were in neither of those places. 

“I don’t know,” Jehan responded, sliding closer to his boyfriend and tucking both hands under one of Courf’s arms. The motion was difficult, due to how tightly Courf had wound that arm around himself into an ineffective shield against the cold. Jehan squeezed his hands tighter, trying to transfer whatever warmth he could as they walked briskly side by side, looking for the bus rout that would take them home. They had been looking for a good fifteen minutes now, but in this unfathomable cold it had felt more like an hour. Jehan’s heart had long since begun to sink with each increasingly heavy step he took. First he had made them leave their friends (not to mention the sauna-like club atmosphere) early, and now he couldn’t remember which direction they had arrived from, leaving them to wander the city at night during a record-breaking cold snap. 

“I mean, first there was that creepy bowling ally on Halloween,” Courfeyrac continued, oblivious to Jehan’s anxious guilt. “Then there was that place above the tattoo parlor with the parrot. And now the sweatbox of satan. Really, this is our fault. He’s established a pattern. We’re the ones who should have known better.” 

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen that much neon in one place,” Jehan said, his jaw aching from the effort to keep his teeth from chattering. 

“On the walls, or on the bartenders?” Courf asked without missing a beat.

“Both,” said Jehan. He giggled, because it was impossible not to succumb to Courf’s unquenchable cheerfulness, but even so, it came out as more of a full body shudder than an actual noise. 

“Not to mention it had to be, like, one VW Beetle wide and three long, four if I’m being generous. God knows how many safety regulations they were violating, shoving us all in there like sardines. I can’t believe Enj didn’t take issue with that.” 

“Well, he probably would have if he hadn’t been so...distracted.”

“By Grantaire’s tongue down his throat!” Courf whooped gleefully, and Jehan had to smile too, because as relieved as they were that their two friends had finally seen the light, they had yet to get used to the sight of anything or anyone being able to so thoroughly dishevel their leader, other than a poorly supported argument. 

“But seriously,” Courf continued, “how many people do you think they managed to squeeze in there? Forget about dancing, there wasn’t room to stand without hitting someone. No wonder you got uncomfortable.”

Jehan winced. He had been hoping to avoid any mention of why they had left.

Usually, he loved spending time with his friends. There was no better group of people in the world with whom to talk, laugh, dance, or get drunk. Ringing in the new year with the people he loved most should have been nothing but perfect for Jehan, Logically, he knew that, and had been building up the evening in his head all day in an effort to convince himself that he would have a good time, he would. But then, around eleven, the already packed club had become impossibly more full as increasing numbers of annoyingly and inconsiderately jolly people found a place to end the old year and bring in the new one. Every time Jehan was sure the bouncers could not fit one more person into the quickly shrinking, neon-lit, smoke-filled room, he had felt himself being pushed closer and closer to his friends, trying not to let the discomfort show on his face each time a foreign elbow or hip brushed his body. He told himself he could stick it out until midnight, or later if he had to, because right next to him was Courfeyrac, laughing with their friends, shouting to be heard as though he had no cares in the world. He had one arm around Jehan’s shoulders, fingers playing across the back of his neck, and his eyes were dancing in a way that was only half due to alcohol. Courf thrived on being around people, and Jehan, who loved plenty, and with such ferocity he had filled several wastebaskets in his attempt to express it, just could not handle it. 

But as hard as he tried, he could hide nothing from his boyfriend. At midnight, tucked away in the narrow hallway by the bathrooms, the only spot with enough room to breathe, he had pulled Jehan close enough to block out the cacophony, and as they kissed, the roar of the deliriously cheering crowd became nothing but a dull buzz. Jehan could feel the smile on his boyfriend’s lips, even as he gently broke away and whispered “Ready to go?” in Jehan’s ear. And Jehan, cursing both his weakness and the way he so readily betrayed his own mind had said, heard himself say, hesitantly, “Only if you want to.”

But Courf had just smiled, too familiar with that game to be fooled into playing along. “Are you ready to go?” he asked again. And Jehan had looked at the wall of people clogging the entrance to the hallway. He thought about fighting his way through that again, of being oppressed by the music and the shouting and the stupid drunk people and the breaking glass that all melded together into a horrible mindless roar. 

He thought of having scant inches to himself, and of being touched by people who were not Courfeyrac. Jehan had closed his eyes and nodded once. 

“All right, let’s go,” Courf had said easily. He sent a quick text to their friends, took Jehan’s hand in a grip so strong it would be a foolish person indeed who tried to separate them, and shouldered his way into the tightly packed jungle of bodies. Jehan kept his eyes closed as they moved towards the exit, trusting his boyfriend to guide their way. The strangers who brushed his narrow frame became inconsequential. All that mattered was the grip of Courfeyrac’s hand. 

Emerging into the clean, crisp night air after the stifling heat of the club had been a relief, that is until their bus stop failed to appear after several minutes of walking and the cold began to enter Jehan’s bones. Going out in light coats and shoes.had seemed trivial on the bus several hours ago, but now that neither of them could remember the exact number of turns they had taken to get from the bus stop to the club, that decision was coming back to bite them in the worst way. 

“Is that a 45?” Courf suddenly asked, squinting at a sign high up on the light post ahead of them. Jehan squinted too, and indeed, it was a sign for their bus rout. Warm, happy visions filled Jehan’s mind as he ran after his boyfriend into the circle of yellow light. Their cozy apartment, with the heat turned up and the lights down, wrapping himself around Courf and cocooning them both in blankets. All the awkwardness of this night would be forgotten as soon as both of them were back in the warmth. They would laugh about this, and tell their friends stories of their survival the next day, making it out to be far worse than it was. 

But Jehan’s elation faded as each minute passed without a bus appearing. His hope crumbled deep into his chest like ice chucks. Courfeyrac had one arm slung around him, jostling him with his constant light bouncing to keep blood moving through his legs. “My ears are so cold, I feel like I could snap them off,” he complained. “Where is the damn bus?” Jehan had no answer. He was too occupied with huddling himself against the heavy, frigid air, fists pushed deep into his pockets, head down, as close to Courf as he could possibly be without melding with him. They both peered intently down the quiet street, as though they could simply will a bus into existence. A cab came their way, and briefly Jehan’s hope rose again, but as it came closer he saw the car was packed full of people, no doubt heading somewhere safe and warm and laughing at the poor bastards stupid enough to have tried to walk. “We’ll be lucky to find an empty cab tonight,” Courf said gloomily. “Because most people aren’t fucking insane!” he shouted suddenly at the sky. He was grinning in that slightly manic way of his that Jehan usually adored, but this time he only pushed back another wince. 

“So what do we do?” Jehan asked in a small voice. 

Courf shrugged. “Want to head up the street a bit? There are other stops in that direction. Maybe the bus’ll...be there...” he paused, as though becoming aware of the lunacy of what he was saying. “Anyhow, we’ll probably stick to the ground if we stand here any longer.”

“Sure,” Jehan agreed, because his boyfriend was right. Anything was better than just standing at this frozen, deserted corner and feeling the cold creep down his neck and slither under the cuffs of his jacket and jeans. So Courf tightened his arm around his shoulder and Jehan clung to Courf’s waist with both arms, and they started off again, although Jehan found putting one foot in front of the other to be much more difficult now. Standing still by the light post had given the frigid night time to leech the remaining warmth from his body. 

But still they pressed on as quickly as possible, trying, Jehan assumed, to feel as though they were actually doing something to help themselves out of their predicament, instead of wandering aimlessly to keep from freezing to death. 

They stepped into the next crosswalk without hesitation. No cars were coming, and the streets were as quiet and still as though the world around the two of them had been sealed behind glass. Jehan thought the air would shatter if he tapped it, but his fingers were too uncoordinated to try. 

Unfortunately the tall, unyielding buildings must have made a perfect wind tunnel, because in the middle of the road they were hit by a gust so sharp and punishing Jehan almost cried. The cold was affecting his ability to think logically, because in that moment he was sure they were not going to get home. The busses had all disappeared and they would freeze here because he had made them leave their friends without bothering to learn the way back. 

Courf swore when the wind hit and pulled them both to the curb. He had stuck the fingers of one hand into his mouth to breathe warm air onto them, but took them out to mutter a relieved “thank fuck,” when they saw the bus stop on the opposite corner was inclosed by a thin-walled shelter. 

It didn’t help much. Sure, the thin plexiglass blocked the wind, but still the cold hung in the air around them, against them, allowing no escape. Courf swore some more, but saw Jehan standing ridged as a twig beside him and quickly moved to wrap him up in his arms, tucking his head under his chin with one hand.

“I swear to god I will make this up to you,” Jehan said, teeth chattering, into the front of Courfeyrac’s jacket. 

Courf’s hand stopped moving against his back. “What was that?” he asked, moving back a bit to catch Jehan’s eyes. Cold air sliced the space between their faces and stung Jehan’s eyes. “This is my fault,” Jehan said miserably. “I made us leave early. I know you didn’t want to. And now I can’t remember how to get home. I should have paid more attention. I’m so sor -,” Courf stopped him with a thumb pressed gently against his lips, so surprisingly warm Jehan stuttered into silence.

“First of all, I wasn’t paying any more attention than you were on the bus here. I think I was doing a pretty good job of distracting us both,” Courf said, with the barest hint of smugness. “So really,” he continued more seriously, “I should be apologizing to you. And second...,” He leaned back in and kissed Jehan on the lips, long and sweet and warm. Jehan’s mouth was flooded with heat, his frozen lips tingled with the sheer amount of sensation. Courf pulled back, still keeping hold of Jehan’s shoulders, firm enough to burn heat through his jacket and shirt. How can he still be warm? Jehan wondered, a bit giddy, drunk on heat. 

“I want to kiss you,” Courfeyrac said, his seriousness tempered by the warmth in his eyes. “I want to dance with you. I want to laugh with you. I want to fall into bed with you every night. And I don’t give a fuck where I am as long as I get to do those things. So don’t ever apologize for needing to leave early, or get some space. Even if you need to be completely alone for a while, that is fine. Because I understand. And it does not matter. Because at the end of the day, I still get to be with you. Do you know...you’ve got to know how happy that makes me.”

Jehan could not blame the cold now for his stinging eyes, and most certainly not for the lump in his throat. He went up on his toes to throw his arms around his boyfriend’s neck and pepper his face with kisses. Courf laughed his beautiful, bright, sunny laugh and stroked Jehan’s hair, breathing white clouds into the air around them. 

“So, are we good now?” he asked when Jehan paused for breath. Jehan hummed happily and burrowed back into Courfeyrac’s arms, wrapping his small frame around him as much as he could to warm him back. 

“What do you want to do when we get home?” Courf asked, low in his ear. 

“Make hot chocolate,” Jehan replied happily.

“Hot chocolate?” Courf asked, sounding bemused. “Really?”

“Spiked to high heaven.” 

Courf laughed at that, then said, “And after?” Jehan felt a delightful shudder in the pit of his stomach, but said nothing, content to let Courf continue.

“We’ll go to our bedroom, where I’ll undress you. Quickly, so I can get you under the covers and make love to you until you forget what cold feels like.”

What little heat was left in Jehan’s body rose to his face, and it was suddenly very hard to form a sentence. He probably would have eventually found words to properly express his total concurrence with this plan, had he not spotted their salvation over his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Courf,” he stammered, eyes wide. Courfeyrac let out a whoop of joy as he turned around that seemed to crack open the icy air. The bus, with the big, beautiful number 45 written in lights on its front, was there. It was currently paused at the stop light kitty corner from their shelter, but it was actually there.

Neither of them could wait for the bus to make its lurching way to them. Courf grabbed Jehan’s hand and they forced their frozen legs into a run, right across the silent road. 

They bolted to the door, which opened for them like a fucking miracle, and Jehan swore he felt the very angles of his face soften in the warmth as Courf swiftly slid behind him and pushed him up the stairs first

Jehan dropped into the first empty seat he saw, and Courf pressed against his side. In spite of the pain of his rapidly thawing legs, Jehan let out a hysterical giggle. “We made it!” he said, grinning hugely now that his facial muscles were unfrozen enough to finally move. “We made it and we’re going home!”

Courf leaned in even closer and nuzzled Jehan’s cheek. “Did you actually doubt that, love?” Jehan rolled his eyes, accepting the attention all the same. “Oh, like you didn’t.”

Courfeyrac huffed. “Excuse you, my faith happens to be boundless. It’s why I put up with you crazies. Someone needs to make sure everyone’s having a good time.”

Jehan stilled a bit, “Courf,” he said.

“If you apologize one more time, I’m hiding your shampoo.”

“No,” Jehan said, looking at him sideways. “I was just going to tell you I can’t wait to get home.”

Courfeyrac’s face split into a warm, pleased smile. He settled his arms around Jehan, less desperately now, and breathed into his ear. “Me neither, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. This was originally conceived as a fluffy winter fic, but it turns out Jehan has more in common with me than I thought. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
